You feel a hand from behind you fall onto your shoulder and you turn with a look of confusion obvious in your face.
It was dark outside under the stars but you could've sworn you saw a hint of reluctancy when you looked into his eyes. It hadnt even been a day but he had already done so much to help, it really was a shame to have to leave so soon. Prison just wasn't the place for you...
His hand slid down your arm and loosely wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His hold was softer than you would have expected.
His previously bubbly nature seemed to fade as he moved his eyes away from yours and down to where he was holding onto you. He mumbled something that you probably wouldn't have heard if it was not the dead of night.
"Youse could stay"
It's strange, how just a few words can hold so much hope. And how only a couple words can instantly shatter that same hope.
"I... can't"
Seconds passed by like hours and the breeze suddenly seemed colder. It was as though you could see him shake away the disappointment as his hand dropped back to his side. He lifted his gaze to meet yours one last time with a smile plastered on his face his bubbly attitude seemingly back.
"Visitation's every third Sunday, perhaps youse could drop by"
His smile never faultered as you nodded your head. All the previous thoughts of the comforts of home had been replaced by the image of his face when you rejected his offer. Remorse flooded over you as you forced yourself to take a step back.
Of course, this wouldn't be the last time you saw him... so why was it so hard to turn away.
I guess it was inevitable for me to end up writing a Yancy fic, so here we are!
(650 words)
————————————————————
Now, Yancy was not an artist, sure, he wrote some music but that’s a whole other thing. This was completely out of his comfort zone, so how was a guy like him supposed to propose to a person like you, in prison? By doing, or at least using, what he knows best! Music!
He fumbled around his cell looking for something he could use, and there, on a guitar that the warden graciously let him have, was the first guitar pick he ever used. Okay yeah, in reality, a guitar pick means very little, it’s a piece of plastic for gods sake, but to Yancy, it meant the world. So many nights when he couldn’t sleep, he’d write out a tune he’d been thinking about all day and turn it into a song on his guitar when he thought no one was listening. You, of course, we’re always listening, even before you got together, you’d lay wide awake listening to the sweet tunes playing in the corridor, and sometimes, if you were really lucky, you could stick your ear on the wall and hear his voice echo through the bricks, singing sweet nothings. You’d join in on occasion, nothing he ever heard, but something he always felt.
He took the pick that was haphazardly threaded through the guitar strings and began poking at the top with a shank he left under his mattress, and after he made a decent enough hole, he thread a piece of string through it. If you asked him about where he got the string from, he definitely wouldn’t tell you about how he snuck up on a sleeping guard and slowly pulled threads from his uniform. And he DEFINITELY wouldn’t tell you about how he stayed awake for hours and hours learning to braid the strings together. No seriously, he can’t tell you that, what if it damages his reputation?
Before he knew it, it was 5am and the guards were coming through waking everyone up and unlocking their cells. With a brand new song and hand-crafted necklace, Yancy swiftly left his cell and informed the other inmates of his plan.
Your cell was right by Yancys, right next to it, you shared a wall, but for some reason, may it be fate, or your own nerves (or the enigma of happy trails penitentiary), no sound came through the wall that night, and by that tiny action from the prison, you knew something was about to happen.
The day was passing fast, you’d been through breakfast and excersise without even a glimpse at Yancy, an unusual occurrence from your affectionate belovèd. As the day went by, your lunch period ended and lock up begun, and just as you were walking outside, a familiar strum of the guitar coming from the cafeteria caught your attention. You spun around and were immediately greeted with the dark haired prisoner sitting on a table, guitar in lap and jittering with nerves (but if you asked him, he’d say he was doing just swell thank you very much). Yancy played a tune that you swore you heard him hum in your ear once before, when he was almost asleep and your head was on his shoulder. He kept eye contact the entire time he sung, his angelic voice almost sweeping you off your feet. As he played the last chord, you watch him reach behind his shirt and pull out a necklace from seemingly thin air. He handed his guitar off to someone watching from the sides and took a deep breath before getting down on one knee.
And that’s how you ended up engaged, with a guitar pick necklace, planning your life after parole comes around with the absolute best thing to ever happen to you. How a heist gone wrong led you to this moment, you had absolutely no clue, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.
might i request.... a somft Yancyxy/n drabble? Just something fluffy if you don't mind!
a gentle sway
(tw: mentions of imprisonment, mention of mental illness (bipolar disorder)
yancy wasn’t... used to things like this.
a gentle sway to a slow acoustic song— one could only ever imagine his evil counterpart listening too. plaid, soft pajama pants that didn’t hug his waist right and instead sagged of the edge of his hips. a sagging shirt he had worn to sleep last night.
you hummed to the song, you hands resting on the same point his pants fell to. you were uncoordinated— unchoreographed, and you smiled giddily despite the solemn mood of the song. you were some type of thing he couldn’t figure out. something he wasn’t used to.
yancy was used to planned out moves and facial expressions. he was used to conveying to an audience. he was practically trained to— it wasn’t like he had anything better to do in prison.
he was so close to matching your rhythm— when the song cut out and switched to something blaring and fast (radio stations were worse than a bipolar inmate nowadays). and without missing a beat you were bouncing along, trying to urge him to do so as well.
yancy wasn’t used to this. being so uncharted. uncoordinated. unplanned.
he began to bounce along with you, letting you release your grasp and bounce around room. he joined in, guffawing and picking up the lyrics to this godawful song.
Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of death, and shit that just doesn’t make sense sometimes because that’s how the AHWM world operates. ~just some angsty fluff~ DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE IN THIS ONE!!!
A/N: The big finale! Thanks oh so much to everyone who has been following along; I wasn’t quite sure where this was going to go, just that I wanted to try my hand at finally writing about the egos, and what better way than our boy Yancy? I definitely want to write more, but I’m still deciding how I want to approach it (taking requests or whatnot). I have some prompts that I’m working on next, but I definitely want to do more of my own Yancy stuff soon! Let me know what you thought and if you have any other ideas! My asks are always open :) Much love.
How had he known? How had he gotten in without either of you noticing? You cautiously walked toward him as he simultaneously made his way toward you, the both of you stopping only inches from each other in the middle of the yard.
“You lied to me.” he said simply, tapping the small backpack you were wearing. You let out a long sigh, nodding, and reached behind you to remove the box from your bag. You held it tightly with both hands, as you took a few steps back from Mark, whose eyes were now flashing between you and Yancy, now next to you.
“Wait, I remember him…this is what you’ve been doing this whole time?!” Mark’s voice rose quickly, and you tried to rest a hand on his arm, to calm him down, but he jerked away from your touch. “We managed to get out of this place, after your stupid decisions, and you’ve been coming back to fuck around with some brick-headed bastard with a fake accent?"
“The fuck did youse just call me?!” Yancy’s fists clenched tight at his waist, and you saw from the corner of your eye that he was essentially positioned to tackle Mark to the ground if he made the wrong move.
“I don’t want no trouble in my home, y’hear me?” he said through clenched teeth. “Youse best get outta here.”
You stepped between them and spoke up, telling them both to calm down. Trying to explain to Mark you were sorry for not turning over the box sooner, that you’d didn’t know what had gotten into you.
Mark shook his head. “We’d built up years of trust, y/n. We’ve always swore we’d have each others’ backs, because we both know what it’s like to be in this shithole life alone. But you lied to my face over and over about the absolute biggest thing we’ve ever done! Do you have ANY idea what I, what we, are capable of doing with that box??”
You frowned and narrowed your eyes at him. It was about more than having the key, wasn’t it?
“Of course it’s more than the key!” Mark seethed. You felt Yancy protectively grab your hand and start to pull you behind him. You planted yourself firm, hardly let him budge you, and instead took a step forward to glare back at Mark and question him further.
“It’s my chance to START OVER!” Mark was all but shouting, and you knew for certain that security guards will be on their way any moment to end this for all of you. You’d never seen Mark like this. You forced down the bile rising in your throat and started to shout back, with no point in hiding, demanding that Mark tell you what the hell was talking about.
“Everything was ruined for me! Some time ago. My life was suddenly meaningless, thanks to those bastards—well, it doesn’t matter who they are now.” Mark’s voice lowered as he let out a short sigh. “The point is, sure there's the key, but that’s only one piece of the puzzle. The box itself a device that can, if in the right hands, manipulate time as we know it. We can go back, go forward, hell, we can jump to completely different timelines and planes or reality if we want! Don’t you want to fix the mistakes you made? All the shit you did that got you here?? You know damn well this isn’t where we belong."
The creeping fear you’d always had of him had finally broke to the surface. It took all you had not to begin to tremble. Whatever had happened to him, whatever he was trying to do, it definitely wasn’t good. You instantly regretted every little thing you’d told him. He’d discovered it all. And you suddenly knew exactly why you’d never fully trusted him.
You shook your head. No, you’d ended up where you were for a reason. You knew he was hurt, but tampering with time and space was so, so dangerous, and neither one of you were qualified...
“You don’t get it. I have to go back.” Mark wrung his hands together. "I have to fix it. I wasn’t supposed to be on this side of things, I wasn’t supposed to be here! I was supposed to be with her, and they—"
“Look, buddy,” Yancy had waited long enough and now jumped in, suddenly face-to-face with Mark. “I may not know what the goddamn fuck youse is talking about, but you sound like youse is one authentic, grade-A screwball.” Yancy stabbed a finger into Mark's chest. “So why don’t you back off my girl n'shove that box up youse’s uptight little—”
You heard the sound before you saw it. Mark knocked Yancy to the ground, hard. Blood was spattered across his nose and along his cheek. Yancy groaned but quickly recovered and was standing again, but Mark had turned his attention back to you, lunging at you to grab the box from your hands. You swerved and turned just long enough to chuck the box as far across the yard as you could, launching yourself back at Mark in retaliation. The both of you hit the ground, and you screamed for Yancy to take the box and get rid of it.
“I’m not going anywheres!” Yancy yelled back, but stumbled the first couple steps he took towards you, his head still spinning. In the meantime, you and Mark were in a struggle, the sound of fists connecting with bones crackling through the air as the two of you struggled for an advantage. You battled back and forth, exchanging blows. Eventually Mark had flipped you onto your back, prepared to swing the final hit that would knock you unconscious, but you managed to knee him in the stomach and quickly stand before he could touch you. You kicked your leg upward as he rose, but your timing was just barely off, your boot only narrowly missing his neck.
You begged Yancy to go again as you threw a swift right hook to Mark’s jaw, knocking him back a bit. He turned back to you, the both of you now a few feet apart.
“Y/n, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right?” Mark said between heavy gasps for air, and you saw his hand move just enough from behind his back to reveal the knife he’d kept concealed in his back pocket. “But I need that box.”
You gritted your teeth at him, tasting the familiar copper of blood that had smeared across your face from somewhere on your head. You could only barely see out of your right eye, and a strange sensation in your ribcage told you something wasn’t right there, either. And you had nothing to defend yourself with. Not this time.
Stupid. Stupid. The two of you stood still, assessing what the other’s next move might be, when suddenly you realized…
Where was Yancy? You weren’t foolish enough to look around, but you prayed to anyone who might be listening that he’d gone to do something about the box. You had to buy him some time.
You tried to talk to Mark one last time, tried to convince him that there was still a way to get out of this. They could end it here, go home and start over in the morning. They could figure something out.
Mark shook his head and let out an amused sigh. “No, it’s too late for that. You know what we have to do, y/n. We have to get out of here."
As he spoke, you prepared to strike.
You lunged toward him, swinging your legs to knock him off his feet again just as you felt the sharp sting of the blade slice along the length of your arm. You had no time to process the sharp pain, only to grab Mark’s arm that held the knife and hold it back as hard as you could; he had managed to pin you down. Your hands were shaking with the force of restraining him, and he didn’t budge as he dangled the knife over your throat. You knew that, while you were more agile, Mark was stronger than you by far, and you couldn’t hold him much longer now that he’d managed to overtake you. You begged your body to find the strength to do something, anything, but you were losing your grip, fast. You closed your eyes and willed yourself to attempt to shove Mark off of you with a final push of adrenaline-fueled strength.
But you didn’t have to.
You suddenly heard Mark suck in a loud gasp for air, followed by several sputtering, choking noises. His grip on you loosened, and his knife fell to the grass beside you. You didn’t dare move, not even when Mark was flipped over onto his back by someone standing overhead, not even when that person stood over you with a switchblade just small enough to conceal in a prison uniform, and his arms came back down to shove the blade into Mark’s chest, again, and again, and again.
You let out a cry and forced yourself to your feet, pulling Yancy with you, pleading him to stop, stop, that’s enough, ENOUGH.
Yancy didn’t take his eyes off Mark, as if he were making absolutely sure he wouldn’t move again. You yelled his name, and shook him by his shoulders to try to snap him out of it.
Yancy shook his head, as if he were suddenly waking up, and turned to you. He sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his weapon to the ground. He grabbed you by the arms as his eyes frantically scanned over you. “Y/n, are you okay?! Oh God, you got a lotta blood goin' all over youse. We gotta go. Can you walk? Can you—"
You shoved off of him and spun back around to stare at the ground below you.
Mark’s breaths had stilled, blood still running from his chest.
Yancy seemed to realize just as you did what had happened, and panicked breaths began to force their way out of his throat.
“Oh no, oh fuck, I did it again, it’s happening again…” He sunk to the ground on his knees, frantically searching Mark’s body for any sign of life, all the while muttering to himself in panic. “The warden’s really gonna be mad at me now, I gotta go tell him it was an accident before he—"
As if on cue, a horde of security guards with flashlights and guns drawn stormed the yard, shouting at you and Yancy to put your hands on your head and lie on the ground. What choice did you have?
The box, you asked Yancy before the guards could make it over, the both of you lying on your stomachs on the cold, blood-stained grass. Had he gotten the box? Where was it?
“I…it was gone. It was gone, and I turns around and sees, he was gonna hurt you real bad, y/n, and I—oh, god.” He squinted his eyes shut and kept muttering. You closed your eyes too, and just hoped that whatever was going to happen, it would all be over fast.
“Yancy m’boy, what the goddamn hell is going on out here???” It was unusual for Murder-Slaughter to be at the prison at such a late hour, but his recognizable drawl carried through the night as he and the multiple security guards formed a circle around the scene.
“Warden!" Yancy started, what almost sounded like a nervous laugh escaping his chest. “There was a misunderstanding, you sees, and we, well, I, this guy was gonna—”
“Wait a minute, wait a MINUTE.” The warden leaned down to look scan your face, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “You’re the one that got away from us! And he’s—“ he turned to Mark’s body, wincing slightly, “well, was, your little partner in crime! I couldn’t forget either of your faces if I tried!"
Your chest was so tight you were struggling to breathe, but you remained silent and unmoving as you heard Yancy speak up again, trying to explain what was going on.
“I don’t wanna HEAR it, boy!” the warden nudged Yancy in the ribs with his boot, a warning. “Yancy, son, I had hopes for you, you know. I really did. But you just had to keep on lettin’ me down.”
“Warden,” Yancy’s voice broke, growing more quiet the longer he talked “I’m sorry, I really am, but youse just don’t seem to understand—”
“I understand just fine,” the warden looked at a couple of the bigger guards in the circle and jerked his head toward Yancy, a silent order to restrain him. The guards lifted him onto his feet as he’d finally grown quiet. You felt the sudden jerk of arms lifting you as well, and the now-familiar sensation of handcuffs snapped across your wrists behind your back. Orders were exchanged that you didn’t quite understand, but you suddenly realized you and Yancy were being pulled away from the scene.
In opposite directions.
“No, no! Where are youse taking her?! She didn’t do anything! Please—“ Yancy was still shouting, begging the guards to let him go, to let you go.
“Y/n! Y/n, I won’t let ‘em hurt you. I won’t! I promise. I’ll find a way outta this, I always do!”
The tears in your eyes were falling freely now, and you didn’t dare look away from him, but you remained silent. You knew there was no use. You simply watched him struggle against the pull of the guards dragging him across the yard...
Until they suddenly weren’t.
In fact, they weren’t moving. No one was. It was as if…time had stopped, for everyone, but you.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
A low voice echoed through the night air, the syllables drifting down around you. A low buzz began to thrum through your ears, and you slowly scanned the yard in front of you to find the source.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when a man in a white suit suddenly appeared in the few yards of space that had grown between you and Yancy.
His raven hair was messy, his eyes dark underneath as if he hadn’t slept in some time. Yet his appearance otherwise was almost regal, and otherworldly. Your eyes could have been playing tricks on you, but he seemed to be fairly outlined in an aura of red and blue.
Although the guards on either side of you were wholly frozen in the spot, their grip on you remained strong despite your efforts to pull away, to run.
The man took agonizingly slow steps toward you, and you eventually scrounged up enough power in your voice to ask him who he was. The man stopped short, and frowned. He appeared almost…disappointed.
“You don’t remember me?” His head tilted to one side, and his form seemed to abruptly fade in and out of your vision. “Perhaps you have spent too long here, after all.”
You said nothing, too taken aback by the very sight of him.
He eyed you up and down for the quickest instance, waiting for you to respond. When you remained silent, he let out a sigh and slowly shook his head. “No matter. I suppose I expected as much."
Suddenly he wasn’t no longer in front of you, but was standing beside Yancy, his body frozen as well, mouth open in the middle of calling your name. The man reached a hand out toward him, mockingly tracing a finger down the cut on his cheek, under his chin.
“Handsome, isn’t he?” the man mused, leaning to peer into Yancy’s eyes. You mentally willed Yancy to move, to snap out of whatever trance he was under, but of course he remained still.
“If I would have known you would have fallen for him so easily,” the man stated, peering at you over his shoulder, "I would have arranged your meeting so much sooner. Admittedly, I'm a bit…jealous. Don’t worry, though. We can keep him around, if you’d like."
You wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come. Your throat was on fire, and your chest felt like it would cave in at any moment. You managed to ask the man what he wanted, what was going on. Was this about the box?
He was now only a few feet away from you, his hands behind his back. He let out a soft chuckle. “You mean this silly thing?”
He pulled a hand in front of his body to reveal the box. With his other hand he turned the lid, lifting it with a light click. A faint glow from the inside illuminated the man’s pale face.
“It’s a nice little toy. Useful…” He softly replaced the lid. “But not nearly as useful, however, as you.”
With a snap of his fingers, the box vanished. You suddenly felt the urge to look down, and gasped when you saw Mark’s dead, bloodied body resting at your feet, his eyes open and staring blankly into the sky overhead.
“You see now, that your friend wasn’t who he always said he was. That he wasn’t to be trusted.”
You suppressed a cry of horror as Mark’s body disintegrated in front of you, flesh and bone fading to dust, then to nothing at all.
“Believe it or not,” he added, “this isn’t the first time you’ve come to that realization.”
He stood directly in front of you now and the guards disappeared from beside you. Your handcuffs were gone as well, but you were locked into place as the man in front of you gently took your hands into his.
“My darling y/n…” he leaned forward, his mouth mere inches from yours, a long smirk dancing along his lips. “…we have so much to discuss."
im sorry...i couldnt really angst it. im a failure :(
a Yancy fic
beta’d by @coffee-bean-boi (thank you so much!!!)
He couldn’t believe it. Yancy’d caused a bit’a trouble, sure, what prisoner didn’t, but...
At least he was gonna see Y/N one last time. Today was visitation, at least. Then tomorrow was it. He was gonna go to the “beyond,” some call it. Yancy had always preferred the more blunt phrasing; tomorrow he was gonna kick the bucket.
He killed too many other prisoners. It was just to be sure he could stay! But, ah, the folks higher up didn’t see it like that. They said he was a danger to the other prisoners. They just didn’t get it!
Visitation came and went. Y/N was excited, they were sure that he’d get out on parole next time it came around, and he could stay in their apartment, because they’d prepared a spare room. They would teach him how to navigate in the real world, and they’d have a nice domestic life together. Yancy made sure to keep up a smile the whole time. Better not to worry them over something that they couldn’t change.
He didn’t sleep well. Nobody would, knowing that it was their last night alive.
He saw his last sunrise, then. Peeking through the bars of the window of his cell. Pinks and oranges and everything. Birds singin’.
He was lead to where it was gonna happen. Everything was a daze. They sat him down. Time was moving way too fast and way too slow. Is this what they all mean when they say your life flashes before your eyes?
Suddenly everything stopped. This wasn’t right. They hadn’t even strapped him in yet, why was he already going? He had to be going, too, or why would time have stopped?
Then he noticed a noise. An awful noise, like everything was stretching and growing and breaking apart around him. His vision warped, and suddenly he wasn’t in the chamber anymore.
It was...he couldn’t even describe it. It wasn’t a room, it wasn’t outside. All that Yancy could actually say for sure about it was that it was completely pitch black. And that it was wrong.
“Hello, Yancy.”
His name sounded wrong coming from the stranger. The stranger seemed wrong, like his very existence was a crime against nature itself. He wore a white suit, and a falsely calm, collected, and confident attitude that Yancy could spot from a mile away. There was some profound sense of unease around the stranger, that Yancy felt that he’d never be able to figure out on his own. What didn’t help was the flickering of red and blue around him, which felt like pieces of the universe around him bending to allow his power to even exist, too much for his body to contain so it must be radiating out.
“Who are youse?”
Two could play at the false attitudes game.
“I am of no significance to you. I am merely delivering on my end of a deal.”
A deal from this entity did not sound pleasant in the slightest.
“It seems that someone particularly cared for you. Do not ask me why, just know that someone decided to cash in on a very expensive favor for your miserable life.”
He must’ve owed someone big time, then, for him so sound this, well, pissed, over getting him out of the Chair. Come to think of it, it seemed like Yancy now owed ‘em this big debt. He didn’t even know who it was.
“What’s the deal, then, if ya don’t mind me asking?”
Oh that really pissed him off. Yancy could see it, with more and more flickers of red, and was that multiple versions of him, making different motions and then reconvening into one single form?
The stranger took a moment to compose himself. Then, finally, he nearly spat,
“That is none of your concern. I am here only because I owed a great deal to someone else. I owe you nothing. No answers, no words.”
There was a great creaking sound, suddenly, and the void around him seemed to expand. Everything was dilating, creaking, breaking again, and Yancy decided that this was the worst feeling in the world, damn the Chair.
Yancy was falling, and then he crashed onto his back, on the floor of somewhere that felt familiar, though he was sure that he’d never been there before. He was in what appeared to be a living room, attached to a kitchenette. There was a hallway leading into what he assumed was the rest of the apartment, which appeared to be small, but not cramped.
Suddenly Yancy heard a door slam and someone come barreling down the long hallway. He sat up quickly to get a look at who it was, and he saw Y/N, bent over their knees, huffing and puffing for breath.
“Hey...Yancy...I hope...he treated you...well?”
This explained why the apartment felt familiar. It felt exactly like he thought Y/N’s apartment would feel, after having it described to him over many months of visitation.
“Woah, woah, catch youse’s breath first. Don’t want ya passing out on me, huh?”
Y/N acquiesced, and sat down on the soft-looking couch to rest. They had clearly been rushing about for a while, likely cleaning, seeing that the apartment was far neater than one belonging to Y/N, or any breathing person for that matter, had any right to be. Once he was sure that Y/N had reached a semi-normal breathing rate, he asked the question he’d had on his mind since he first laid eyes on that stranger.
“So, uh...who was he?”
Y/N paled slightly, as if they hadn’t expected the question, or simply didn’t like the prospect of answering. Yancy figured that if he were involved with someone like that, he wouldn’t like talking about ‘em either. Still, he wanted an answer.
“He’s...an old acquaintance. He owed me for something that I gave him, long ago. His debt to me’s been settled now.”
That was the kind of answer that Yancy hated, the kind that sounded like it was actually telling you something but was actually just a load of hot air. Yancy didn’t push it, though. Y/N clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and he could respect that. Didn’t mean that he couldn’t still be curious.
“What’d youse give him that’s so big? No offense, but, ah, he didn’t really seem the type to honor an old gambling debt or something, ya know?”
Y/N seemed to struggle with themselves for a moment.
“Ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?”
“Didn’t satisfaction bring it back?”
Yancy gave a small grin to Y/N. He felt that it showed that they didn’t have to answer if they really didn’t want to. He hoped that that message had gotten across, anyways.
Y/N seemed to understand what the grin meant. They relaxed, then, and said;
“How about we get you settled in before getting into this?”
Yancy understood the message within those words; he wasn’t being brushed off, and the discussion was being tabled. Not discarded, simply postponed. He’d get his answers someday, even if not today. He could wait.
And in the meantime, he had a whole lot more life to get to.
The first four words out of your mouth, muffled against Yancy’s white, ruffled shirt, when you ran back into the prison a week after you’d escaped, with the man who’d helped you out all over your mind, and a skeleton key around your neck.
Despite trying your best, you couldn’t get the memory of Yancy, the rather sweet inmate that had risked his own safety to get you out of Happy Trails Penitentiary, away from your mind. And every time you returned home, your eyes had managed to draw themselves over to the key lying on your table, the note below it taunting you with a future, one with him by your side.
So, exactly one month and eighteen hours after you had been broken out of Happy Trails, you found yourself tugging on a black sweatshirt and jeans, placing a black beanie on your head as your keys were scooped up, the skeleton key you’d found in the box safely worn on a necklace (more like a thin string of wire) around your neck.
As the door to your car was opened, you landed into the driver’s seat, letting your fingers curl around the wheel before you took a deep breath, leaning backwards in the plush seat as your thoughts flew.
Were you really going to do this?
Were you going to break into a prison?
Yeah.
You were.
And that’s how you found yourself parked a few feet away from the entrance of Happy Trails, your hand reaching for a small Taser in your glove compartment- you didn’t particularly want to shoot anyone, but a Taser would do.
It’s also how the side building leading into the prison, a supposed ‘guards’ entrance, you thought, was being infiltrated, your skeleton key being pulled out twice to get into the building- and to get into the prison, opening the door that connected them.
And you were back.
Just a few feet away, you could see the point where he had let you escape, almost able to see him in place, or see his hand pressed against the fence as he watched you go, his voice cracking slightly before you turned away, taking a breath.
Shaking it off a bit, you tugged up your left glove, looking at the night watch that rested on your wrist as the green digits glowed into life.
12:15am.
By now, most people in the prison would be asleep.
But you knew Yancy wasn’t-he’d told you before you left that he was a massive insomniac, unable to get any proper sleep. He said he never really slept until 1 am, giving you more than enough time to get into the building and find him.
And there were benefits to sharing a cell with him: you remembered exactly where it was, and you could find it.
Tracing your ever familiar path towards the cell, you walked over to the cell bars, leaning against the wall on the opposite side with a small smile on your face, gently messing with your skeleton key by tracing it with your fingers.
Your eyes landed on no one other than Yancy himself, sitting on his bottom bunk as his handmade knife slid along the flat edge of a roughly hardened piece of wood, gently whittling out a small statue of…was that..*you?*
It sure as hell was- or at least, a rough replica sketch of your features from the chest up, like a small bust figure of you, atop a small brick of wood he kept. With a quiet, hushed giggle, you leaned up against the wall, clearing your throat pointedly as you let the key rest atop your shirt.
“Miss me?”
A short jolt answered your question, his fingers loosening from around the knife handle to let the handmade blade fall to the ground, a pair of mocha brown eyes shooting upwards to yours.
“I-I…youse back!”
His stunned voice sent a spike of laughter through you, a quiet laugh leaving your parted lips before you let the key dangle between your fingers, walking forward a bit to gently lean your shoulder against the bars.
“You said you weren’t gonna leave, so I figured…why not come to you?”
Without another word, the flecked black and silver key around your neck slid into the cell door’s lock, the bars swinging outwards to admit you in, the steel closing behind you as you entered, your fingers leaving the bars as you stood there, barely four feet away from him.
Your vision swam with tears as you looked at Yancy, blinking a bit to try and wash them away as your wrist came up, using the back of your hand to brush away the tears fogging up your vision.
Thankfully, he made the first move, taking three easy steps to reach you as his arms wrapped securely around your frame, his chin resting atop your head gently as tears rolled down your face.
He was here.
You were here.
You were hugging him.
Your arms came up unsteadily, wrapping around Yancy’s chest as you buried your face into the smooth white fabric of his t-shirt, your fingers finding a small grasp on the fabric as it balled up, holding him as though he would disappear, like he did before.
He seemed to be holding you the same way, Yancy’s tanned arms wrapping around you as tears rolled down his cheeks gently, his hands resting gently on the small of your back as he listened to you start to speak.
“You smell like cinnamon.”
That earned you a chuckle, muffled by his sniffling slightly before you pulled back, reaching up and running your hand along his cheek gently, taking in every feature as you remembered it.
His tear-filled brown eyes, the stubble-covered cheeks, the prominent jawline, his Tiny Box Tim tattoo…
Everything was just how you remembered him to be.
Yancy’s fingers came up from your back to gently caress your cheek, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned into it- almost unconsciously- a tear rolling down as he spoke to you, his voice shaking a bit. “Y-you…I didn’t expect for ya to come back for me…or t’ even remember me…”
That’s when you kissed him sweetly, shutting him up as you rose to your toes, arms still wrapped around him as you pulled away a few seconds later, your thumb gently stroking his cheek.
“You didn’t expect me to remember you? Yancy, even if you weren’t the one that broke me out of prison, I never forget such an adorable face.”
The first of many compliments you were gonna give him, you cut off the blushing boy’s stammer, pressing your lips to his once again.
Hi!! Could I request a yancy x reader? It could be anything I just need a hug from this man pls
lashes
a/n: special shout out, once again, to @smiles-4-lifes, who proofread this for me! she’s recovering from a surgery and is an absolute sweetheart, go send her some love!!!
yancy had very long, feminine eyelashes.
it was a strange thing to notice, a strange thing to comment on— you were aware of that. but there were times when he’d smile, and his eyes would shut; and you could see long and delicate and dark lashes contrasting against his lighter skin.
yancy always looked like he had just ran a mile; his cheeks were always tinted with a rosy pink, his hair was slicked back as if he was constantly pushing it out of his way— which, to be honest, he was, but it was with a cheap bar of soap he found on the shower floors once and kept.
right now, yancy laid facing you. his lips slightly parted, his face relaxed, his lashes laying against his cheek the way you always liked.
“you’re so pretty, yance,” you complimented him, using your hand— that was previously cupping his shoulder in a light hug— to cup his cheek and graze it with your thumb.
yancy smiles and giggled in response, “oh? tell more more, doll.”
you exhaled a soft titter at him. you wanted to get into detail— you wanted to tell him how he had dark lips, facial hair that was the perfect length, hair that never got too long, a beautifully crooked smile; but you didn’t.
“you have long eyelashes,” you spoke gently, using your thumb once again to pet them gently.
yancy laughed again, pulling you closer to him and putting his chin on your shoulder. “youse ain’t bad to look at either.”
he let out a gentle sigh, and you felt him relax in your arms. his comment wasn’t much— but you knew he meant it, and you mimicked his relaxation.
In which Y/N takes Yancy to Disney World for the first time
also Y/N is mute because I said so
for @coffee-bean-boi who kind of beta read but not really
Yancy, after much persuasion, had finally been convinced to apply for parole. He got it, of course, because everyone likes him unconditionally and it is physically impossible not to like him. But that’s not the point.
The point was what Y/N surprised him with when he walked out a (mostly) free man. They had saved their money from the moment they escaped to buy these.
These were tickets to a fairly popular amusement park. You may have heard of it; it’s called Walt Disney World at Orlando, Florida.
Yancy had never been to any amusement park, much less one this nice. His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull and his jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw the entryway as Y/N drove inside.
“Ya can’t be serious. Youse really got us tickets to this place?”
Y/N nodded vigorously, grinning. They looked so proud of themselves, and it just made them look even more handsome and/or beautiful.
Y/N drove through the wooded area, looking as though they knew exactly where they were going - they did, as they had thoroughly investigated Google Earth prior to Yancy’s parole so that they could minimize the chances of getting lost. They paid for parking and drove to the lot, and was directed to a space. Yancy got out of the car, while Y/N reached into the back and grabbed their small backpack, which contained their phone and wallet, along with other necessities. Y/N climbed out of the car to see Yancy waiting for them just behind it.
“Where do we go now? I don’t see any rides or anything. Was youse just yankin’ my chain?”
Y/N grabbed Yancy’s arm lightly, and began to walk towards where the tram was loading with people. Not many people were getting on, so they were able to get a seat almost immediately.
Yancy made small talk on the tram ride, but he stopped as soon as they went through the tunnel at the entrance of the Transportation and Ticket Center.
They got through security, and then Yancy saw the monorails. He gaped at the sight of one pulling into the boarding area for Magic Kingdom, and the Y/N grabbed his arm and started running.
Yancy and Y/N were able to get seats on the monorail. Yancy stared excitedly out the window as the automated tour dialogue was played throughout the monorail. He practically screamed when the castle came into view, and excitedly pointed it out to an equally excited Y/N.
They stepped out when the monorail dropped them off at the park itself, and both practically ran down the ramp. They scanned their tickets to go inside, and finally, finally, they were inside.
They walked through the tunnel, and both of them marveled at Main Street, USA. People were milling through the street, a thousand, million, billion shops lined the pavement, and performers were singing in the large city square that they were in.
In the Town Hall, they could meet Mickey Mouse and take pictures with him, so obviously Y/N dragged Yancy through the relatively short line. Yancy didn’t see the purpose of taking pictures with a round-eared rat when there were performers to watch.
The pictures turned out great, mostly because of Y/N’s handsome and/or beautiful face.
After they walked out of Town Hall, some street performers decided to include a participant in their show. They saw Yancy and immediately picked him, because theater people can identify each other through their theater voodoo magic or something.
Yancy then did a lovely rendition of “I-Don’t-Know-What-We’re-Singing-But-I’ll-Make-Something-Up-That-Goes-With-The-Tune,” which he was applauded for by the performers and some bystanders who were thankful that they had not been selected, because they definitely would not have improvised as well as he did.
Yancy and Y/N began to walk down Main Street, where they saw the castle. It was huge, and beautiful, and it left both of them awestruck.
They didn’t go into any shops, because Y/N was broke enough with these tickets, they were not wasting their money on souvenirs (lies - Yancy and Y/N ended up back at Y/N’s apartment with far too many pins, t-shirts, and plushies by the end of the trip).
They walked to Tomorrowland, where they rode the Peoplemover and went into the Monsters, Inc Laugh Floor. Both Yancy and Y/N submitted jokes, none of which were family-friendly, and unsurprisingly none of them ended up in the show. Afterwards, they rode Carousel of Progress, which Y/N deeply regretted because Yancy would not stop singing the damned song.
Y/N got their revenge by talking Yancy into riding Space Mountain, which they thoroughly enjoyed. Yancy did not share the opinion.
They raced on Tomorrowland Speedway, and headed towards Fantasyland. There was an attempt by Y/N to get Yancy to ride Mine Train, but it was a no-go.
For lunch, they ate at the Beauty and the Beast restaurant, which just served sandwiches and that kind of thing for lunch and didn’t actually earn its exclusive reputation until dinnertime, which they did not attend because neither Yancy nor Y/N had the balls to rob a bank of that much money when they had both recently been freed from prison.
After eating, they rode It’s A Small World, on the condition that Yancy would not sing the song repeatedly after they got off. Yancy sang it anyways because he’s a punk ass bitch.
Peter Pan, another musical ride nearby, conveniently had a very short wait time. They did not ride because Yancy cannot be trusted. He whined, and Y/N flipped him off when they were no longer in view of any workers.
They spent the rest of their day eating food from the cart vendors, riding non-musical and non-roller-coaster-type rides, and marveling at the magnificence of everything around.
That night, after they had both watched the fireworks in awe, and they were leaving, Y/N had one last surprise for Yancy.
They drove not towards the exit, but in a different direction. Y/N had gotten them a hotel room On Property for 4 nights. It was at a hotel under construction so the prices were reduced, but both Yancy and Y/N had a very happy rest of their vacation.
